Heartstrings
by Coriana
Summary: If someone were to see them on the road side by side, they wouldn't be able to tell you who looked more ticked off. / Collection of Pandora Hearts oneshots. Contains spoilers in some chapters.
1. The Taste of Silence

The Taste of Silence

Word Count: 705

Prompts: Silence - No One's Leaving - Mother's Kitchen

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><p>Outside, it was raining.<p>

There was no escape out of this hell. There was no acceptable excuse to disappear, because it was _raining_. She would _know_, like she always did when I would walk out that door just to get away.

...

Mother's kitchen never was very welcoming.

There were never homemade meals served in the area where families supposedly get together to enjoy each other's company and the warm food provided. She never cooked; she felt she didn't need to. I have never even tasted fresh bread and butter.

...

I sat at the table, leaning back in my chair and watching the rain fall outside the window. I listened to her gripe about my father, and me, and about the world in general.

She pulled hard, stale bread from the cabinet. Tonight's dinner, apparently.

...

My body ached to run. To walk out that door and never return.

The day to do so was drawing near. I could feel it in the way that my skin twitched and how my stomach twisted and how my legs burned to run for miles.

...

I had always been the kid to never make it into any circle. Most other kids avoided me of their mother's warnings about _my _mother, and the adults would always ignore me as they walked by, like they did to all trash in the street.

I couldn't explain the feelings I'd get at times like these, except that it was an oozing feeling, something that felt sticky to the touch and revoltingly sweet in the mouth

It was a feeling that demanded admittance, no matter how unwanted it was.

I stared at my mother's back, who continued to voice her frustrations, which was giving me a headache that throbbed behind the eyes.

...

I had dreams of running away and finding a different path of fate. Didn't everyone have a choice as to how they wanted their life to go? I wanted mine to be bright and vivacious, not the dirty and dismal that I had now.

But somehow, my dreams of running never made it past the front door. The door with its worn out knob and grey wood, which looked like it would flake apart underneath a caress.

The door, which was so weak and fragile, held my soul to this house and to her like a caught butterfly, always easily broken and crumbled.

...

Something cold touched my cheek, and I brushed it off with the back of my hand.

But it had only been water from the leaking roof. The drops left my hand damp and mixed with the brown dirt that resided on the skin.

Water could be agitated and distorted with the slightest touch. Water could be tainted and altered, but it was always still the same entity, water.

...

Music. That was something I could do. Something that I could do well. I could make music from the artificial, man-made instruments.

I could manipulate anything I wanted from the instruments. They always obeyed what I commanded them to sing, and they never questioned the reason of the tone of the melody they were instructed to play.

Instruments listened and did what I told them to, and I enjoyed that miniscule authority.

...

"Jack," The woman said, bringing me back to the surface of my endless dwellings. "Are you listening to what I am saying?"  
>I had quit listening to her years ago.<p>

When I said nothing, it appeared that she did not care. Besides, I was just as useless as 'that man'.

That man who just might hold the key to the different path. Someone that held silk and cleanliness, music and laughter, friendship and smiles…

"If he didn't come back for me, he won't ever come back for you," she told me smugly. She had scorn lacing her voice and hate evident on her face.

...

I knew better than to argue. I had argued too much. It was better to keep quiet and watch. To listen and wait until the truth could no longer be contained, and then when it is spoken, there is nothing like the delicious aroma of the words as they dropped from the mouth.

And in that aspect, silence had never tasted so good to the tongue.


	2. Stories Told Only After Dark

Stories Told Only After Dark

Word Count: 774

Prompts: Two Roads – Black Ghost – In the Dark of the Night

Timeline: Before the first book.

Summary: Ada gets her first taste of ghost stories.

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><p>Gilbert didn't really mind the dark. It was a time for reflection of the day and sleep. It was an enjoyable time.<p>

But standing in the middle of a newly-harvested field in the darkest time of night, with no stars or moon, was hardly his idea of fun.

Oz thought it was. He was rattling off ghost story after ghost story, trying to scare Gil but at the same time not being graphic enough to scare his younger sister, Ada, who was clinging to Oz's shirt.

"And then," Oz said, flourishing his hands towards the expanse of the field, "The man disappeared. Never to be seen again."

"That's lovely," Gil said, "Can we please go home _now_?"

"Come on, Gil. Put some heart into it." Oz grinned in the way that normally meant he had a plan brewing. "You tell a story. Let's see how scary you can be."

Gil heard something rustle behind him, but he swallowed his sudden surge of fear.

"Fine," he said, and Oz's ears perked in surprise. "It was a very late night when the servant finally strangled his master."

Oz's eyebrows lowered. "I don't like where this story is going."

"And after the death of his body, the spirit was left to wander around the desolate field for absolute eternity, while his younger sister and his servant went home. The End."

"I don't think Uncle Oscar would approve of the story, either…"

"Master Oscar would also not approve of us being out here in the middle of the night."

"My, my, you get crabby when you're tired, Gil…"

"Can I tell a story?" Ada said, making the two boys look down at the little girl, whose bedtime was way past what it should be.

"Sure, Ada," Oz said, no doubt humoring her. "Tell us your scariest story."

Ada folded her hands in front of her. She stared off to an empty spot in front of her, which Gil wasn't sure was for dramatic effect, or if she had just forgotten what she was going to say.

"It was a cloudy night when the Black Ghost first appeared," she said, sending an involuntary chill up Gilbert's spine.

"No one knew where he had come from, or who he had been before. The one thing they knew about him was that he had a black silhouette, and that he carried a long white knife, which was always covered in bright, red blood. And the only place he walked amongst was freshly harvested fields, because he wanted his kills to be as fresh as the harvest."

Gil looked over at Oz, who, if he was scared, was doing a good job not showing it. Gil, on the other hand, was starting to feel the darkness pound around him, and was hearing footsteps that he really hoped were just in his imagination.

"Always before he kills his victim," Ada continued, raising her hands and her voice, "he asks, 'what road would you like to go down?'" She suddenly dropped her hands and slapped them against her thighs. Gilbert was pleased that Oz had jumped from the sound, too.

"No one," she said, "has ever heard one of his victims reply."

Ada bowed, and she smiled sweetly when she lifted her head back up. "How did I do?"

"I've realized that it's kind of dark out here," Oz commented. "Why don't we go back in?"

"Excuse me? Something like that really scared you?" Gil snapped. He hadn't thought Oz would be scared of a story of that type. A type which was still slightly cliché, no matter where it was told.

But Oz, indeed, looked slightly spooked.

"Well, you know, Gilbert, I wouldn't mind, except that I've heard a story similar to that about the Black Ghost, and Ada hadn't been with me when the person told it to me."

Gil wrapped his arms around himself and looked to see how far the mansion was.

Then, behind all three of them, a hoarse voice whispered, "What road would you like to go down?"

Oz grabbed Ada and then all three of them took off towards the mansion, screaming at the top of their lungs. Hoping that someone in the mansion heard them before some_thing_ got them.

Uncle Oscar shook his head as he stood in the spot that they had bolted from. He could still hear them screaming, and he feared they would be in an awful lot of trouble for waking the mansion up in the middle of the night.

It took an awful lot to keep kids in line sometimes.

The only thing that puzzled him was: where _had_ Ada heard that story?


	3. A Contest of Wills

A Contest of Wills

Word Count: 670

Prompts: Eyes – In the Bleak Midwinter – Guarding the Keep

Summary: Challenging Emily to a staring contest was the strangest thing Oz had ever done.

* * *

><p>Everyone left me alone, Oz thought, his mind wandering in the gloom. He was in the garden, seated at a small table, with his breakfast of berries and cream (by the recommendation of Sharon-chan), and a pot full of tea that he had yet to pour. Even though everyone had said that they would join him for breakfast, they had all seemed to have forgotten.<p>

It felt like everyone had abandoned him in a cold snow drift, leaving him to figure out how to cure his symptoms in the bleakness of boredom.

The only proof that someone had even been at the table was that Break's doll was sitting on a small black box. Staring at him with those not-so-blank eyes and devilish smile. There was a cup of poured tea sitting next to her. Oz just wasn't sure if Break had poured it then had gone to do something, or if he had poured it for Emily. Oz really hoped that it was the former.

What he really wanted to know was what was in the box Emily was sitting on. Break had to have done that purposely, wondering if Oz's childish impulses would hold out or break down.

Oz wasn't going to go down without a fight. He took a bite of the berries, which had begun to turn soggy since he had been waiting for someone else to arrive before he ate them.

But since no one had arrived, it had turned into berry mush without his knowledge.

He almost gagged on the slimy substance on his tongue, but he managed to swallow the spoonful, shuddering afterwards. He put the spoon back and pushed the bowl away from him.

He swore that Emily looked as if she was laughing at him.

Oz narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you have something to say?"

He immediately wished he could take those words right back. Talking to a doll. It was a terrible mental problem.

Thankfully, she didn't answer.

Oz's eyes moved to the box she was sitting on.

"So Break is trying to tempt me, is that it?" He asked, trying to tell himself that he was talking to _himself_ and not to the doll.

She stared at him with those eyes, those eyes that he was just waiting to blink…

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He could go do something else. No one said that he had to stay here (no one else had even come). And the only company he had was a doll, who was sitting on a box his fingers were itching to open.

Even though – if he knew Break – it was probably just empty. Emily was faithfully guarding something for no reason.

He thought he saw her blink, but he knew that wasn't right.

"Then how about we do a deal?" Oz asked Emily, obviously losing his dignity. "If I win a staring match, then I get to open the box. If I lose…well, uh." Oz looked around to find something that might interest the doll. "Well, you get to keep the box, tell Break about my failure, and you can have this," he finished, pushing the bowl of berry mush towards her.

"All right? Ready? Start." Oz leaned forward and intently stared into the doll's eyes. It was rather strange, having a staring match that you knew you were going to lose. But he was bored enough to do so, and it occupied his mind from whatever was going on in his life right now.

Oz's mind reacted instinctively when he saw Emily blink, immediately saying that he won. Except once he thought through that, he also thought about how _improbable_ that was.

Oz slowly moved away from the table, deciding that he was going to do something else now. Far away from the doll. He kindly admitted to himself that it had been a stupid game and that he had, of course, lost.

Because it wasn't possible at all.

It must have been a trick of the light.


	4. My Obsession

My Obsession

Word Count: 303

Prompts: Danger Ahead – Sinner Boy – Fiery Chasm.

Summary: Some of Alice's thoughts and emotions when Oz was cast into the Abyss.

* * *

><p>He was not what she had expected him to be.<p>

She had been expected someone older and more distinct.

Not this little boy that looked like his life hadn't even started yet.

How could someone like him become the target of her intentions? She didn't know, but her interest had already set onto him, and she wasn't going to let him get away.

The poor little boy being condemned for a price he didn't know how to pay. He looked so lost and unsure when the Baskervilles appeared.

When they were going to cast him into the Abyss, what was he expecting? The hell-hole everyone knew it was? A fiery chasm where it was so hot the flesh started to melt from the bones? Or maybe a cold inferno where you would freeze from the outside in?

The Abyss would be very different than he expected, and she wished that she could see his eyes and face when he was first pulled into it.

But she wouldn't be able to. She needed to leave now, since her powers were ebbing and it would be suicide to stay in a world that was unstable to your core.

She retreated before she could watch the ceremony that would bring forth the boy's demise. She wanted to watch, but she might as well get a head start on finding him in the Abyss.

"I'll be waiting for you," she whispered into his ear before, "to come to our side."

She couldn't help the longing she felt in her chest. "I've finally found…my key."

She released him and returned to the hell from whence she came.

Alice couldn't help her smile as she set off to look for the boy whose ruin had become her obsession.

He might be a sinner, but he was _her_ little sinner.


	5. Shatter

Shatter

Word Count: 622

Prompts: Broken Pieces – Eruption – The Tree house

Summary: **Spoilers for Chapter 66.** Her eyes were the ruin of her life. Since the beginning and will be to the end.

* * *

><p>The mirror made a satisfying crash when she smashed her fist into the glass.<p>

Her whole face was distorted, and it pleased her to some extent. Only it wasn't enough, because her red eyes still reflected back at her.

She grabbed the shards of glass in her one hand, effectively cutting all her fingers and palm. The pain was sharp and hot.

"Lacie?" A voice said from the bottom of the tree. It was his voice, fraught with concern. She didn't answer him, but the glass tinkled as she moved her hand away from the mirror, and started to pick out the pieces that had become embedded into her skin.

It wasn't long before she heard him climbing the rope ladder into the tree house. She ignored him when he looked over the edging of the weakening platform.

He pulled himself into the small tree house, and Lacie heard the floor creak.

"You might break it under your weight," she told him, "You should probably get down. Besides, I don't feel like talking to anyone."

He didn't say anything, but he didn't leave either. He sat down next to her by the back of the tree house, which was where the only wall of the tree house that was still standing. He didn't even have the decency to comment on her bloody hand and the shattered and red mirror.

They were quiet besides the pinging of the sound of glass falling to the floor.

Even after so long, the tree house was still only theirs. The one place they were seemingly able to hide from Glen. He couldn't find them here.

The tree house was old, and falling apart. The roof had collapsed and the floorboards were weak, ready to fall out from under their feet at any given time.

It was still peaceful to Lacie though, and she never wanted to lose this one sacred spot.

But it felt like she was now, because no matter where she went, her fate followed her.

She tilted her hand back and forth; pretty sure she had gotten all of the shards out of her skin.

Her brother leaned forward, holding a handkerchief. She stretched out her hand and allowed him to tie it around her palm and fingers, trying to staunch the blood.

"You're going to need to get that checked," he told her, watching a bird flutter around in the branches.

She sighed and pushed the mirror farther away from her with her foot. The mirror was decorated with red, but it could have as well been her own eyes looking back at her.

Her eyes were the ruin of her life. Since the beginning and will be to the end.

She touched her lower eyelid with the thumb of her un-bloodied hand, feeling the orb underneath the weight of her finger.

Her brother gently reached out and grabbed her hand from her face before she could think about doing anything physically damaging.

She sighed again, feeling a couple tears well up in her vision. "Oswald," she said quietly, "I don't know what to do."

He squeezed her hand and didn't answer.

She pulled her hand out of his and covered her face with them, feeling the warm blood touch her skin.

Oswald moved closer to hear, and wrapped his hand around her shoulders, pulling her closer until she leaned against him. He started to softly hum that one melody he would always sing whenever she was stressed out to the brink of her being.

She let out a breath with his humming, listening to the vibration of his chest underneath her cheek. She could feel her body unconsciously relax. There was only the throbbing of her hand that ruined her peacefulness.


	6. Not Quite a Fairytale

Not Quite a Fairytale

Word Count: 776

Prompts: Fairy Tale – Eyes of a Stranger – Crashing Waterfall

Summary: Little Sharon thought that it should have played out like a scene from her books, but she wasn't quite as brave as a princess, yet.

* * *

><p>When the stranger first started living with the Rainsworths', Sharon didn't know what to make of him. Instead of doting on her like all the other young men that came to visit do, he never said anything to her. In fact – in Sharon's opinion – he flat-out ignored her, and she wasn't pleased with the knowledge of that at all.<p>

It was morning; at a time that only the servants would dream about being up at.

But she knew he would be awake and out, from the few times she had watched him depart from the castle from her balcony.

When she had seen him leave today, she had immediately left her room to follow him, afraid that she would lose him in the intricate gardens if she delayed at all.

Even in the mildly chilly spring morning, she was only wearing a lightweight lilac colored dress, which maybe had a closer qualification as a nightgown. She would be scolded if her mother, grandmother, or her governess found her in it while she was outside.

The pitter-patter of her bare feet on the stone pathway echoed with the dawn. She stopped to take a breath. The man was nowhere to be found.

Sharon stomped one of her feet in frustration, no matter how unladylike it was at the moment. And just when she had built the courage to talk to him on her own, too.

She let out a grumpy breath to remove a strand of hair that had fallen into her eye. When the strand just resettled back on her cheek, she indignantly shoved it behind her ear.

Only after she finally decided to return to her room was when she found him.

He was standing by the rail guard overlooking the water garden, which contained water lilies and water thrushes, and many other water-foliage that Sharon couldn't remember the names of, even though her mother had told her.

She tried to move slowly and quietly towards him. She was proud of herself for moving as quietly as a cat, but it seemed as if he would have heard her even if she had been a mouse.

She froze underneath his gaze, suddenly feeling unguarded and unprepared. She had not rehearsed anything to say to him. She had just been hoping that something would magically come to her like it did to all the princesses in her fairytale books.

While she had been lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed that he had turned away from her.

She felt a muscle in her eyebrow twitch. How dare he ignore her.

Her resolve came crashing back into her like a waterfall.

She boldly came to stand beside him, staring fixedly out into the garden with a determined look on her face.

They were both silent. Even after all her grand confidence had returned, she still hadn't anything to say.

Thus, she was quite surprised when he spoke. "Did you need something, My Lady?"

She looked up at him, but still couldn't find something to say. She had to honestly admit to herself that she had not talked to him alone since he had arrived. She was always with someone else. But he never talked to her much, either, even when he had started onto the road of recovery.

He had fresh bandages on. She could tell because the material looked slightly stiff. They had probably been changed this morning by him. She knew that he had begun to learn how to apply them alone. She didn't think he wanted anyone else to see the wound.

He was so different from all the other young men, and it wasn't just the color of his eye. He didn't coddle her just because he was trying to gain the attention of her mother.

He also had such an old-fashioned feel around him. The way he held himself, the way he talked or the way his presence either commanded that you notice him or allowed him to melt into the shadows.

"My Lady?" he said again, and she felt herself blush.

She suddenly turned tail and ran. She didn't let herself be stopped even though her utter embarrassment demanded her to.

Her books must be _lying_ to her. How in the world can the princess just walk up to the tragic hero and strike up a casual conversation? It was quite beyond her.

She didn't stop running until she was in the security of her room. She leaned against her door, her plump baby cheeks flushed with exertion.

Next time she saw him, she _would_ talk to him.

But maybe next time, she would watch how her mother did it, first.


	7. Cold Fire

Cold Fire

Word Count: 495

Prompts: Blood – Mansion over the Hilltop

Summary: The winter months always brought back memories that Vincent would rather forget.

* * *

><p>Vincent didn't like the cold.<p>

The bitter snow and the harsh wind brought back too many unwanted memories. Recollections of lying on the stone pavement, nearly burning to the touch from the iciness that had seeped into and below its core, where it felt like his skin would peel off if he were to move his hand if it had accidentally fallen to the street. Times where he and Gil would have to huddle together under the single torn and tattered blanket that they had robbed from a clothesline, which had become threadbare from use.

When he and his brother had been on the move through streets, their gaze would fall into the valleys or over hills that lay beyond the walls of the city, places were they knew houses or mansions were tucked into, content in their warmth and happiness.

After his adoption by Nightray, he was never one to play in the snow with his adopted brothers and sister. He didn't like the feel of tromping through it or how the wet snow felt on his fingers. It reminded him too much of times where his feet would become raw and bloody from walking through the smoldering snow and frozen boulevards.

Instead, he liked walking the cleared pathways with his feet shod in high, thick boots. He liked wearing his coat and gloves. If it could be managed, he wouldn't touch the snow at all, be it that his skin was bare or clothed.

In the winter months in the Nightray manor, he normally stayed inside by the fire with tea and a book as his adopted siblings played out in the snow. He would only go out if it was completely necessary or if he just wanted to live the 'feelings' of conquering something that was once conqueror.

When Gil had finally been adopted by the Nightray family, Vincent had watched in strange fascination as Gil would play in the snow with little Elliot, not remembering at all the horror that accompanied winter on those desolate streets. Vincent felt envious of the fact, as he had watched from the cleared path, denying all of Gilbert's invitations to join them in the cold, ruffled blankets of snow.

Gilbert didn't remember any of it, but it didn't matter, did it? It was something that Vincent wished to forget, but his mind held to the memories as if they were vital life-strings that connected him to a place that he didn't want to remember, but felt that he had to.

There were times when he would just open the window in the dead of the night, just so he could breathe in the crisp, stinging air. The stars would always look so sharp and bright in the winter months, against the black backdrop and their companion, the silver moon.

The fresh layer of snow glittered in the moonlight, so pure and untainted.

How dare it look so innocent when it could cause so much pain.


	8. Don't Wake Me

Don't Wake Me

Word Count: 567

Prompts: Seeking Solace – I'm Not Awake Yet – Island Oasis

Summary: **Spoilers for chapter 34**. When it's you I'm dreaming of, I don't want to wake up.

* * *

><p>The only solace Echo ever got was from her dreams. It didn't mean that nighttime was her favorite time, because she didn't always get to sleep at night, for whatever reasons reaching from Vincent-sama visiting her room in the night or missions given to her for her to complete in the dark.<p>

Dreams were the only places were she'd feel peace and sometimes 'happiness'. But that aspect didn't quite come alive until she met Oz.

She would see him in her dreams. He would take her hand and lead her along the pathways of the garden or island, depending on what her mind had decided to offer to her at the time that she was dreaming.

He would talk to her. Only stopping to take a breath now and then, but she didn't mind, she liked listening to the timbre of his voice. She felt that she would learn so much about him until she would wake up, only to remember that it was unreal and whatever the person talked to her about in her dreams couldn't truly be Oz's personality.

At one point, when she walked along with him in her dreams, she would start knowing that it wasn't real, and it left a weight of disappointment in her stomach, because it started to become hard to lose herself in her only oasis.

Even so, she never wanted to wake up from it. She could fool herself as long as need be.

But it always happened. The sunlight streaming through her window would wake her. Vincent-sama would wake her. The chattering of Noise in her head would wake her.

It always appeared that she couldn't stay asleep long enough when she would see Oz in her dreams. Something always seemed to interrupt the dreams faster than they would when she used to dream of other things.

Sometimes they would feel so vivid and authentic, that she would sometimes awaken herself with a jolt, momentarily stuck in a daze and she had to take the time to become re-aware of her surroundings. To remember what bed she was in and whose room she had ended up in that night.

She hated waking up in that way, because it was nigh impossible for her to fall back asleep. All she could do was close her eyes and remember things that they had talked about before they, too, slipped away, as the memories of dreams so often do.

Or sometimes, she would lie awake in her bed, not quite yet awake to the real world, and think about the feather that she had tucked away into the back of her drawer, away from Vincent-sama's prying eyes.

The feather was something that she would allow herself to look at, or sometimes never to even think about unless she knew that Noise was sound asleep. Otherwise, there was the chance that Noise would tattle about the location of the only item that she possessed from Oz.

No matter the absurdity of the thoughts; she would like to start truly having conversations with Oz, to learn his real personality, to know _him_. To walk along with him for real, just him and her. To never leave the dream come true.

But since she believed that a time like that would never come, she just had to find solace in her dreams.

Because the dreams were as good as they would ever get.


	9. Life Behind the Counter

Life Behind the Counter

Word Count: 522

Prompts: Food – Blasphemous Rumors – Manning the Store

Summary: From the eyes of a store merchant, people always come and go. People are easily forgotten, even if their story was great.

* * *

><p>"Hey, wait you stupid rabbit!"<p>

When I heard those words yelled, they were peculiar enough that I had to look up to see if there was some strange commotion that involved a rabbit.

I didn't see any animal, just a girl. Short in stature, and with long brown hair. She was wearing an exceedingly short skirt and knee high boots, and a coat that was hard to categorize as to which type of coat.

Other all, she looked nothing like a rabbit. But it was certainly her that the older man's words were directed to. He came running up behind her with an irritated look in his eye.

She stared at the meat I had for sale, watching it with such rapt attention that I thought that she was just going to jump at it.

"It's not rabbit food, you know," I said jokingly.

She didn't even spare me a glace, as if she could care less about who I was and didn't give a damn about what I was saying.

When the man finally got to the store front, he spared some choice words for the little girl. She rolled her eyes at him and haughtily tipped her nose into the air.

"Welcome," I said, since I tried to keep my good-nature handy even if it wasn't appreciated.

The man gave me a nod of his head in his greeting, then started to buy some groceries and, of course, meat for the little girl.

Could she possibly be his girlfriend? She seemed a tad young for him… something like that would certainly start some offensive rumors. Plus, their relationship seemed to relate more to a family relation.

A daughter?_ He_ seemed a bit too young for that.

Ah, of course. She had to be his sister. It all made sense. They treated each other just as my brother and I had treated each other in our younger days. It was just that strange way that siblings tended to show love. Especially the way they seemed to be bickering now.

"What a cute little sister you've got!" I said, proud of my obvious conclusion.

He handed me the money for the groceries as I said that line. His eyebrow twitched. "She's not."

Well, that destroyed my whole theory. I was at a lost as to what she could possible be, then. Perhaps she was some poor girl that he was feeding out of kindness? The problem was is that he wasn't being very kind and the girl was quite well dressed. Maybe she was the daughter of some family friend? Or possibly the younger sister of a woman that he was courting?

I watched them walk away, as she chewed on the meat and he followed her. I couldn't hear their conversation anymore, and it made me wish that I had paid a bit more attention as to what they had been speaking about.

Ah, oh well. So life goes behind the counter of a store. I was to be bored until the next person came along, where I could analyze them and their possible life story until they left, as well.


	10. Rainy Day Madness

Rainy Day Madness

Word Count: 863

Prompts: Playing the Melody – Something for Nothing – Cabin Fever

Summary: No matter where you were in the huge Nightray mansion, you couldn't seem to escape the sound of the piano.

Timeline: A short time after Gilbert was adopted by the Nightrays' – They are all still young.

* * *

><p>It seemed that no matter where you were in the huge Nightray mansion, you couldn't seem to escape the sound. It echoed everywhere. Reverberating off of the walls and in the heads of the poor, helpless people that were stuck inside the mansion as the rain poured down in sheets outside.<p>

The sound was the leisurely sound of a piano. The romanza reverie with its behind the scenes sostenuto, and the grazioso legato in its smoothest form.

Claude and Fred had locked themselves in their rooms, sitting closest to the window so that the thunder and drumming rain could drown out the sound of the song in its dramatic climax, the dynamic crescendos hitting their peak with their accented forte.

Gilbert and Vincent sat on the spanning couch that resided in the main room, since it was a convenient place to complete their schoolwork. Even if they had to listen to for the fifty-third time the song that would slowly descend into diminuendo to enter a measure of ritardando, and then end in the pianissimo finish.

Vanessa suddenly barged into the room, having a sort of stately air to her even though she had yet to experience a growth spurt. "You better not play that song again," she said.

Elliot whipped around on the bench and stuck his tongue out. "I'll do what I want. Besides, Vincent told me to quit bugging him and do something else, so something else is what I'm doing."

"I had meant for him to do it in his own room…" Vincent mumbled without lifting his head from his schoolwork.

Gilbert didn't say anything.

"Vince!" Vanessa whined, "You should have known."

"I'm practicing," Elliot said, "You can't tell me to not practice."

"Then practice something else! Why do you have to keep playing that stupid song?"

"It's not stupid. You're just mad that you can't play as well as me."

"Maybe _I'll_ go to my room," Vincent said.

Gilbert didn't care so much about them arguing, just as long as Elliot's fingers weren't on the keys.

"I don't care if I can't play. It's just an instrument. What good is it going to do for you?"

"It does a lot of good! It can help clear thoughts and thinking."

Vincent leaned closer to Gil, "Then I think he's going to need to play it a few hundred more times."

"What did you say?" Elliot snapped. He looked ready to leap from the piano bench to the couch just so he could strangle Vincent.

Vincent just shrugged. "I didn't say anything."

"You're lying!" Elliot jumped the distance from the bench to the floor (since he had ended up standing on the piano bench) and stomped over to the couch, even though he couldn't even see over the back of it.

"Well?" Elliot said, pulling himself high enough over the back of the couch so that he could glare at Vincent eye to eye.

Vincent put his whole palm over Elliot's face, and started to push him back down.

"H-hey! Remove your hand!" Elliot tried to move Vincent's hand, but in the end, he just ended up falling to the floor.

"Damn it!" Elliot said.

"Elliot!" Vanessa said, putting a hand to her mouth, "I'm going to tell mother!" She had sat down on the piano bench, possibly to prevent Elliot from sitting back down.

Elliot picked himself up off the floor and stalked around the couch, to properly glare at Vincent.

"Hey, Elliot," Gilbert said, before Elliot leapt onto Vincent. "Do you want to play a game?"

Elliot's ears perked. "What kind of game? Because I _know_ the concept of the 'Quiet Game'."

"No, not at all," Gil said, taking the pen from the top of his papers. "I'm going to go hide this somewhere, and you're going to have to go and find it, and return it to me."

Elliot's eyebrows furrowed. "What's that going to do for me?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Nothing, but it'll occupy you."

Elliot's lip quivered, as if he was suspecting something, but he finally nodded. "Fine, I'll play the stupid game."

Gilbert got up off the couch without another word, exiting the room with the pen in his hand.

Elliot took the spot on the couch that Gilbert had vacated. He glared at Vincent. "Don't think I've forgotten your insult."

"What insult?" Vincent asked, smiling down at his adopted brother.

Gilbert returned shortly, and then nodded towards Elliot. "It's hidden, now go and find it."

"Can I play, too?" Vanessa said, her eyes getting bright.

"No. No way," Elliot said.

But Gilbert smiled at her and nodded. "Let's see who can win."

Elliot growled, but then was off like a shot.

Vanessa hopped from the piano bench and raced out of the room after her brother. They both had gone the opposite direction of each other.

Gilbert and Vincent both worked in the blessed quietness, the piano situated behind them looking so meek and un-obtruding right now.

It had taken a minute for Vincent to notice that Gil was still working on his schoolwork with a pen in hand.

"Where exactly did you hide the pen?" Vincent questioned.

Gilbert's lips tweaked but he didn't say anything.


	11. Rainy Day Madness: Part Two

Rainy Day Madness: Part Two

Word Count: 1,360

Prompts: Under the Rain – Follow the Sign – Mid-Afternoon

Summary: If someone were to see them on the road side by side, they wouldn't be able to tell you who looked more ticked off.

Notes: This has no relation to 'Rainy Day Madness', besides the rain.

* * *

><p>Leo's hair was plastered to his head from the rain and his glasses were fogged from the summer humidity, but you didn't need to see his face to feel the irritated air coming off of him.<p>

There was rainwater in Elliot's boots, since he accidentally kept stepping in puddles that sent the water over the rim of them. The whole left side of his body was drenched and muddy due to a miscalculated step that had ended with him downed on the side of the road. Leo had walked past without even glancing at him as Elliot had picked himself out of the mud. The only thing Leo had done was give a wide step over the slippery stone in the road.

If someone were to see them on the road side by side, they wouldn't be able to tell you who looked more ticked off.

They had been following directions and signs the whole mid-afternoon, trying to find the seamstress that Elliot had placed an order with some time ago. Leo hadn't gone with that time, but if he had known that Elliot would have forgotten the location, he would have been more apt to force the directions out of Elliot for Leo's own sanity.

The order was for Elliot's sister, Vanessa. It was a new leather jacket. It was to be a surprise birthday present, since her old coat was wearing out. Elliot had put the order in at a more discreet shop at some unknown place in town, for the whole surprise gift secrecy thing.

It hadn't been raining when Elliot had been going to pick the order up. He had demanded Leo come with, just because Leo had been sitting on the balcony reading, doing nothing constructive in Elliot's eyes.

It had not taken long for the blue sky to become dark and forbidding. The rain came down so thick sometimes that Leo could hardly see in front of him. The summer heat made everything muggy, and the rain did nothing to cool them down because it was like warm bathwater.

During the downpour, they were running through the streets trying to find something that might look familiar to Elliot.

Also, due to the 'secrecy act', Elliot had withheld information from his family as to where they had been going. So now they were lost and on top of that, no one knew where they were or what time they should have been expecting them home.

Elliot suddenly stopped dead and Leo ran into him – nearly throwing Elliot back into the mud again.

"This is it," Elliot shouted over the drumbeat of the rain, as he pushed Leo away from him, so his valet didn't 'accidentally' knock him into the muck. Elliot was into the store before Leo could say anything.

Leo hid from the rain by standing as close to the building as he could. It was a little drier until the drain gutter on the house broke and his head was met with slimy, dirty water.

When Elliot came back out, Leo was picking out twigs and leaves from his hair. It didn't take long for Leo's sharp eyes to catch that Elliot wasn't holding a package.

"Where is it?" he said through clenched teeth.

"She said to come back tomorrow – it still isn't finished."

"Didn't you even think about having a note sent to you as to when it was done?"

"Of course not! What have I been telling you all this time about being quiet about it?"

Leo didn't quite care anymore if Vanessa found out or not. In fact, it would have been a whole lot less troublesome if Vanessa had just known, because then Elliot would have put the order in at a closer store. Then they would not have been standing in the rain right now. Oh, no. They would have taken a carriage like every other normal person out there.

"Vanessa's birthday is _tomorrow_," Leo reminded him.

Elliot gave him an exasperated look. "Idiot. Don't you think that my sister has reminded me of this nearly fifteen times this morning?"

"I guess you'll have to stay here until tomorrow." Leo started stomping through the puddles on the streets. He hadn't been able to memorize any details of the streets or houses, so they were bound to be as lost tomorrow as they had been today. Unless the storm cleared up, but that wasn't looking very promising, since it was raining harder than before.

"Oh, really. _I_ should stay here? You're the valet. I should make _you_ stay here."

"Don't push your luck."

They both glared at each other until the flash of lightning went off, followed by the crack of thunder.

Leo didn't mind storms, but standing in the middle of a turning potentially dangerous one was a different matter.

They heard the seamstress shout to them at an interval where the thunder wasn't dominating. She beckoned them into the store. They didn't hesitate at the offering.

Once inside the store, she handed them both towels and brought them chairs. The few girls currently working brought them tea and some small cookies. Leo was impressed that Elliot had been able to find a store that tried for higher-class service, even if they were lacking in some other aspects. The store was relatively small, and their spools of material seemed few.

"It seems dangerous for young boys to be out in such a storm. You apparently had some important business to attend to for you to come out in such weather."

Leo was glad that Elliot had a right mind not to mention that they had gone out before the weather had turned. "Yes," Elliot said, "It's a birthday present for my sister."

"Oh, so sweet," the lady cooed. Leo had decided that he didn't like her. She seemed like the epitome of the saying 'wolf in sheep's clothing'.

She only spoke with Elliot, since it was not hard to tell which one was the noble out of the two. As Elliot talked to her, saying how his sister's birthday was tomorrow, and how he was wondering if there was a way that the process could be sped up, Leo's eyes traveled around the room. Most of the girls – some sewing, some cutting, and some pulling spools from the shelves – watched Elliot out of the corner of their eyes. It wasn't until Leo's glasses cleared a bit did he notice that some of them were watching him, too.

"Well, you see," the lady was saying, "I could speed up the process, but that would mean you'd have a rush-order delivery, and you'll have to pay for it."

Elliot gave a glance at Leo, but Leo just gave him a sigh in return.

"Fine," Elliot finally said, pulling out his money bag. Leo wondered if Elliot had enough, since the price would have certainly gone up a decent amount.

The seamstress clapped her hands and the girls dropped what they were doing and leapt to the other project. They were done in less than five minutes. The jacket obviously hadn't needed that much done on it; it practically had only needed its button clips.

Leo was sure there was steam coming from Elliot's ears, but Leo only kept his head down as he laughed silently.

So Elliot paid double for the jacket - which was now folded and encased in a box – even though he could have just waited the extra day to achieve the regular price.

Leo had been correct – the woman was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

The rain had stopped by the time they had gotten outside, just the drippings from the leaves and rooftops the only thing continuing with the raindrops. The sun also had decided to come out, causing all of that lovely moisture to start to rise up, making Elliot and Leo breathe hard from the heat.

Elliot gasped and it didn't take long for Leo to notice what he was staring at – you could see the Nightray castle turrets from here. Leo couldn't help his smile.

Somehow, everything that had happened to Elliot today seemed like revenge for dragging Leo out to town with him.


End file.
